


The God of Weddings

by Vulpesmellifera



Series: The Tenth Muse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Mycroft Sees Things, POV Greg, Weddings, Well Groomed, getting married, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpesmellifera/pseuds/Vulpesmellifera
Summary: Written for the Well Groomed Event started by @wastingyourgum on Tumblr.The big day has arrived - Mycroft and Greg get married on the historic date of March 29th, 2014. Greg worries for Mycroft and his discomfort with crowds, but Mycroft's extrasensory ability surprises them.





	The God of Weddings

**Author's Note:**

> I was seized with the idea to write this part 2 during a work meeting, and then had to steal bits of time throughout the day of March 29th to write it. I had a stupendous time.
> 
> May we all find the happiness this Mycroft and Greg do, whether it's with a partner or with ourselves. Much love to you all, you wonderful fandom people.

 

_"On high the roof--Hymenaios!--rise up, you carpenters--_

_Hymenaios! the bridegroom is coming."_

Sappho, _Fragment 111_ , C6th B.C.

 

 

  
Greg proposed on March 1st. Mycroft turned white and blurted, “I see things!”

Greg was baffled.

He could never have imagined the scenario that followed - with a pink face and a soft voice, Mycroft lead him to his studio, touching the corners of charcoal drawings and pencil sketches, explaining the phantoms he sees lingering around some people, the brilliant colours around others, the voices, the odours, the fact that it isn’t deduction - all said with a melancholy mixture of careful reverence, disdain, and sadness.

When Greg told Mycroft that he needed to go for a walk, he’ll never forget the painful shuttering of his lover’s face. Mycroft said he understood that Greg needed time to think, and Greg was quick to correct the man. Mycroft was to walk with him, and tell him more.

It’s been four weeks since. Greg will never forget Mycroft’s flat voice as he described what he was seeing. The magnitude of his lover's revelations hit Greg like a lorry - this, this _thing,_ this _sight,_ that Mycroft divulged was the defining mold that had shaped the man. And this man, was the man Greg loved. The three piece suits and officious demeanour, the callous attitude toward other people. Greg had known it was all smoke and mirrors, but he never quite understood _why_.

If Mycroft was really seeing the nightmares that he recounted, it should come as no shock that he had isolated himself. It was a matter of self-preservation. Yet, he remained in London’s busy center, working to keep England safe, and watching over the most difficult man Greg had ever met.

He had watched the taller man’s eyes scan the people surrounding them, never lighting on one person or the space around a person for too long. The look in his eyes scared Greg. Distant, depressed, glazing with fear and resignation. Mycroft didn’t think Greg would want him after this. He was laying out all his cards, and letting Greg make the next play.

So, Greg got down on his knee again, and proposed. Again.

Getting an armful of Mycroft, their faces wet and promises on their lips, the crowd cheering around them, was one of the most uplifting experiences of Greg’s life.

Today would be another one.

They posted the notice on that very same day, Mycroft calling Anthea and having her push it through. Which brought them to today: the first day in Britain’s history that same-sex marriage is legal. And they would be among the first couples to enjoy the privilege.

 _And it is a fucking privilege._ No one can tell Greg differently.

“Greg!” Anthea is standing in front of him. “Your little spoon might be having a moment of self-doubt. Care to step in and halt the downward spiral?”

Greg shakes his head as he smiles. “The loo, I assume?”

Anthea grins and gestures toward the direction of the men’s restroom.

Greg walks through the door to see Mycroft and Sherlock standing and staring at one another. They wear grey bespoke suits with lilac cravats. Sherlock wears a sprig of lavender as his buttonhole, while Mycroft and Greg wear deep, purple orchids. Mycroft’s face is slack with a look of amazement, while Sherlock looks questioning.

“Mycroft?” Greg goes to his fiance’s side, sliding his arms around Mycroft’s waist. “You thinking of leaving me at the altar?”

Mycroft focuses on him. “Never, my darling. I just - “ He glances at Sherlock. Though other men exit and enter, they’re busy with washing hands and chatting. The exhilaration in the air is palpable.

“Leave us a mo’, Sherlock.” Greg says. Sherlock gives one sharp nod, and sweeps out of the bathroom.

“What is it, beautiful?” Greg whispers as he herds Mycroft into the far corner of the room.

“I just saw the most remarkable thing.” He’s scratching his jaw and his eyes are unfocused.

“And - that, what? Made you nervous about us getting hitched? Is it all too fast?”

“No. No. I helped put this legislation into place. We will take our position among the victorious.” His nose is in the air as he says this, and then he stares down at his handmade Italian shoes. “I just...I am concerned that I will fail you as a husband.”

Greg squeezes Mycroft tight, inhales his expensive cologne and ginger-avocado shampoo, tries to fortify him with a sense of being loved. Of being treasured. “We’ve done well for ourselves, haven’t we? We had our trouble, but that’s past, and since then I’ve never been happier. We've figured it out, and if anything happens again, we'll figure it out again. Your ‘penance,’ as you once put it, ended a long time ago. Please don’t carry it with you. I want to marry you. I want this for us.”

Mycroft inhales, his chest expanding next to Greg’s. He murmurs, “God, Greg, you’ve made me the happiest man on Earth.”

“You’ll have to fight me for that title.” Greg grins into Mycroft’s neck.

“Hey ladies, save the necking for your wedding night, yeah?” A singsong voice calls out, joined by laughter and innuendo-laced remarks. Everyone here is elated. Everyone here is validated.

_Vindicated._

Greg pulls away from Mycroft, chuckling. Mycroft is smiling, though he stares at the floor to hide the red of his face.

“So, tell me what you saw - and quick, I think it’s almost our turn.” It’s the early hours of the morning. Same-sex marriage was legalized at midnight, and they had grabbed an appointment as early as they could. Mycroft refrained from using his own resources to usurp a space in line. He felt as though it were stealing from other deserving gay couples, though Greg could tell the temptation was immense.

“It was Sherlock’s demon. It was only one this time, and it stood in front of him.” Mycroft looks at the space where he and Sherlock had stood. “Facing me. And it brought its hands up to its chest, and made this shape.” He poses his hands over his left pec, palms facing one another, curving so his fingernails and wrists touch, forming the shape of a heart.

“It did _that_?” Mycroft’s visions could communicate with words, but Sherlock’s normally made nonsensical noises toward Mycroft, only seemingly interested in broadcasting their general mockery of Sherlock’s older brother.

“That wasn’t all. It pushed its hands out in this burst of light, and it was like a, a scintillating cloud of dust.”

“Scintillating? You mean sparkly? Like glitter?”

“Greg, the clouds rose into the air, and dissipated into the shape of butterflies, and they flew until they were nothing but smoke. It was quite simply unexpected, and - magnificent.” Mycroft’s eyes stare into the direction of the ceiling. His hand is splayed over his heart.

Greg tries to imagine it. Mycroft has described Sherlock’s demons as coal-dark with hoofed feet, clawed hands, and pointed ears. Their eyes are green and they stand about two and a half feet high. They act like mischievous imps, according to Mycroft, and the more of them that appear, the more worried Mycroft is about his brother.

This was only one, though. And it showered Mycroft with glittery butterflies.

“Have you ever - experienced something like that?”

“No.” His voice is full of wonder.

“It seems there is more to this ability you have, than what you thought before.”

Mycroft tilts his head to one side, his eyes still staring into nothing. Greg steps closer, careful not to crush his buttonhole of flowers.

“And, it must speak to Sherlock’s happiness for you.”

Mycroft’s lips pull into a smile. A joyous smile. “Yes.”

“C’mon.” Greg takes his hand. “It’s almost time, and I’m about to marry a wizard.”

Mycroft scoffs, but he’s still smiling. “I’m about to marry a ridiculous man who loves children’s stories.”

“Seems like a match made in heaven.”

Mycroft’s voice is serious when he says, “It is.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


They stand before the registrar. Anthea, Sherlock, John, and Greg’s cousin Marlie look on.

Greg sees Mycroft smirking at John Watson’s feet. He leans in towards Mycroft’s ear. “What do you see?”

“Sherlock’s demon is wrapped about John’s ankle, with its face buried in his trouser leg. I think it’s purring.” Mycroft whispers back.

Greg snorts.

The registrar, a redheaded woman with a toothy grin, begins. “This place in which we are now met has been duly sanctioned, according to law, for the celebration of marriages.” She pauses to push her glasses up on her nose, and then she looks out on the watching faces of their witnesses. They’ve chosen a private room, rather than the chamber where most of the marriages are taking place with onlooking reporters. “You are here today to witness the joining in matrimony of Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade. If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, he or she should declare it now.”

There’s silence, of course. More words follow after that, but most everything is a blur. The only thing that matters to Greg is Mycroft’s beaming face.

Vows are spoken, but they’re not anything they haven’t said to each other before in late night cuddles under the covers, declarations spoken in fervor during marathons of sex, whispers into each other’s skin on the sofa, promises over shared breakfasts, and unspoken sentiments while hand holding through the park.

Their first kiss as a married couple is warm and includes tongue and Greg feels a burst of heat radiate from his chest. They’re announced: Mycroft and Gregory Holmes-Lestrade. Greg can’t bear to stand more than a few inches away from his husband. Mycroft seems seized by the same feeling; they grip each other’s hand tightly as they sign the book together.

Outside, there are barriers separating a crowd of LGBTQ allies from the steps of the Westminster Town Hall. They’re waving rainbow flags, whooping and screaming with excitement. Cameras flash and reporters shout out questions. Mycroft and Greg wave, both unable to cover the soppy grins on their faces. The crowd begins to chant “kiss!” and the two men quickly oblige them. Greg checks, and sees that Mycroft doesn’t even seem perturbed by the amount of people. They continue holding hands as they make their way down the steps, greeting other gay couples who went before them, all holding their certificates. There is so much laughter, white grins everywhere, shining eyes and some happy tears. One couple is dancing, and others are hugging and crying. The air is saturated with pride.

But Greg just wants to get his husband home and in bed. They say their goodbyes to their witnesses; Anthea and Marlie throw their arms around each of them. Greg and John hug and slap each other’s back. John shakes Mycroft’s hand, and Sherlock and Mycroft face each other without saying anything. Then, Sherlock smiles, and slips his hand into John’s. Mycroft nods, and takes Greg’s hand. The crowd parts for the newly married couple to slide into Mycroft’s waiting car among congratulatory shouts.

“That was a circus,” Mycroft straightens his jacket as he adjusts himself on the seat. He says this almost out of habit, it seems. He’s used to being dismissive of other people.

Greg places a hand on Mycroft’s knee and squeezes. “They’re happy for us.”

Mycroft sniffs. Then, as if remembering something, his smile widens. “It has been a remarkable night. Or, perhaps we should call it an early morning.”

Greg eyes him. “The crowd?”

“Full of disgusting creatures. But...they were different. There were of course the people with brilliant auras. The colors were kaleidoscopic. But, the ones with spectres and demons at their shoulders...the monsters looked - happy. Many of them were smiling, and watching the couples on the steps. As if, they might be caught up in the enthusiasm. As if this moment in history meant something to them.”  Mycroft is staring out the car window. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how this works, or why, but...what I saw tonight was astounding.”

“What I saw tonight was pretty astounding, too, and I don’t see what you do.” Greg bumps Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft faces him, a soft smile on his lips.

“We’re married,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Greg,” Mycroft says. His voice is silken, even when it’s thick with emotion. “I never expected this in my life. I never expected to find someone to love, who would love me in return. I thought myself destined for solitude, and I prepared myself for it. You have entirely shaken the very foundations of my being.”

Greg feels tears in his eyes, not for the first time in these early hours. “I didn’t think I’d find someone to love again. I thought I’d die a divorced, pathetic bachelor.”

“Never pathetic.” Mycroft buries his face into the junction at Greg’s neck and shoulder. “If you could just see you as I see you. How you glow. Thank you for giving me another chance. Thank you for believing in us.”

“I love you. I love you so much.” Greg nuzzles the side of Mycroft’s face until he lifts his head and their lips meet for a soft kiss.

“And I you, husband,” Mycroft whispers against Greg’s mouth.

Husband. Greg never knew that one word could irrevocably alter his life. Then, he never would have guessed what Mycroft Holmes would come to be to him.

Everything.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://vulpesmellifera.tumblr.com/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vulpesmellifera)!
> 
> Have a happy day!


End file.
